Page 41 of Make You Mine

Twenty minutes. Yeah right. If I were already wearing makeup, then maybe.

I shuffled rapidly from Ren’s house to mine, not wanting to run and end up falling on my ass like he had just done.

I made it to my porch, threw open the door, and holy hell, now I only had about nineteen minutes.

“Not now. You have plenty of food,” I tossed over my shoulder to Smog and Nimbus as I dashed up the stairs, refusing to think about why my heart was racing so fast and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

“Eighteen minutes!” I mumbled as I made it to my bedroom, then jolted to a sudden stop by my bed.

“This is all for show.” He had a run-in with Richard. This was part of our deal, nothing but a fake date so word would get back to Richard, damn it. He wasn’t even part of my life anymore, but he was still freaking ruining it, the jerkface loser. No, not ruining. He could try, but I would always be great. Fuck him. No one could ruin my life except myself, and I always managed to come out on top. This time would be no exception.

A glance at the clock on my nightstand told me I had sixteen and a half minutes. I wrinkled my nose. I wouldn’t need it.

After a brief rummage through my closet, I tossed a pair of jeans and a sweater on my bed along with a pair of winter boots. Cute and casual would be fine. More than that would be overkill.

In the bathroom, I ran a brush through my hair and quickly applied mascara and a slick of soft red lip gloss. “Pow!” I grinned at my reflection. “You got this.” Laughing at my positive affirmations, I quickly dressed, grabbed my purse, and made it back downstairs in time to hear Ren knock on the door. “Perfect.”

He greeted me with a wide grin. His messy hair and relaxed demeanor made my heart flutter, despite my resolve to keep tonight strictly business. This wasn’t about him; it was about proving to everyone that I could move on from losers like Richard, and Ren was going to help me do it.

“You look great,” he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

“Thanks,” I replied, trying to match his enthusiasm. “Ready to get this over with?”

“Get it over with? Ouch.” Ren laughed, a warm sound that eased my anxiety. “Let’s make this fun instead.” He held his fist out for a bump.

I bumped it back with a smile. “I can do that.”

We walked to his car, chatting about inconsequential things, the banter light and easy. The drive to the Pennywhistle was short, and the town was beautiful under the rain-drenched, misty moonlight.

The Pennywhistle Pantry was a charming relic of a bygone era. As Ren and I walked through the door, the bell above jingled, announcing our arrival. The warm glow of vintage neon lights bathed the room in a nostalgic hue, casting soft shadows on the polished chrome stools and the checkered black-and-white floor. Booths lined the walls, their red leather seats inviting us to sink into their squeaky comfort.

The air was filled with the aroma of frying bacon, fresh coffee, and the sweet hints of milkshakes being blended behind the counter. A jukebox stood in the corner, softly playing tunes from the 50s, adding to the ambiance.

Servers in classic uniforms, complete with aprons and jaunty caps, bustled around, serving plates piled high with pancakes, burgers, and golden fries. The place was lively but cozy, filled with the hum of conversations and the clatter of dishes.

Ren gestured towards a booth near the window, and we settled in, the worn leather creaking slightly beneath us. I took a moment to absorb the surroundings, feeling a wave of comfort wash over me. This diner, with its timeless charm, was the perfect escape from the drama and tension that had plagued my thoughts earlier. And I was going to have fun if it killed me, damn it.

I’d been here with Richard a million times, but it felt different tonight—time to exorcise some more freaking demons.

Ren caught my eye and smiled. “Feels like stepping back in time, doesn't it?”

I laughed because his meaning and mine were totally different. I was remembering being here with Richard, and he was probably thinking of a 1950s TV show or something like that. “Yeah, it's nice. I’ve always loved it here.”

He picked up the menu. “What’s your favorite?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m choosing a new favorite tonight,” I looked up at him, my lips tilting at the corner. “Moving on to new things.” His eyes were so gorgeous, warm and sparkling as he looked at me. “Better things,” I added in a soft whisper.

“I like that. You deserve some peace.”

Our server came by with coffee, tilting her head to the cups already on the table, and eyeing us curiously as she poured. I guess we were beingseen.Score one point for Piper and Ren and the fake dating plan.We told her we needed a few more minutes to order, and she headed back to the kitchen.

Our hands brushed against each other as we both reached for the cream at the same time. “You go first,” I offered.

“Thanks,” he poured a scant amount of cream in his coffee, then added a spoonful of sugar. “How do you feel about chicken fried steak?” he asked.

“I love it. But you should let me make it for you sometime and get something else here. I have my grandma’s recipe, and it’s untouchable.”

“Ahh, I’ll take you up on that. It’s one of my perennial favorites. I order it whenever it’s on a menu.”

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